


Sometimes It Wasn't Easy

by LananiA3O



Series: Batfam Week prompt fills [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Swearing, pre Arkham Asylum, robin!jason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 16:25:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11211810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LananiA3O/pseuds/LananiA3O
Summary: With Bruce out of commission thanks to Ivy's latest poison, Jason sets out for his first, inofficial, unsanctioned solo patrol as Robin. It goes pretty well, as far as he is concerned, until a concerned big bird from Blüdhaven shows up to "help".





	Sometimes It Wasn't Easy

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fill my second Batfam Week prompt, this time by an Anon who wanted Robin!Jason and Nightwing on a mission together. Full prompt can be found here:  
> http://lananiscorner.tumblr.com/post/161873400843/hi-would-you-be-willing-to-take-a-prompt-about

There were nights on patrol that were good from start to finish – nights when Batman and Robin would hit the streets of Gotham together just as soon as the last inch of the sun had sunk beneath the horizon, nights when they would patrol the streets together, foiling one crime after the next until the sun peeked over the horizon once more. Those were the nights when he came home feeling tired and beaten, yet unbelievably satisfied, when the last rush of adrenaline would carry him just long enough to take a shower and eat one of Alfred’s delicious post-patrol dinners, before falling onto the surreal box of over-sized, overly soft comfort that was his bed.

There were also nights on patrol that were bad from start to finish – nights when either one of them started out grumpy at best and ended up furious, when every takedown was just a little flawed ( _you need more practice, you left your flank wide open, pay more attention next time, control your temper)_ , when every jump was just a little too short ( _you are being too slow, your technique needs refining, I’ll integrate Dick’s training routines into your augmented reality courses for you to practice_ ), when every word just made him want to sock the bastard right in the teeth ( _I know what I’m doing, I had it under control, do you want me to prop up a cushion for the next bastard, well it worked didn’t it, up yours B_ ).

And then there were nights like this one. Nights that started out perfectly ok: maybe a few minutes late, maybe a little too slow or a little too busy, maybe extra-cold and extra-rainy, maybe a dud here and there, but still... _okay_. Nights when Robin and Batman argued a little, but not too much, when not everything went according to plan, but nothing truly disastrous happened either.

Tonight had been one of those nights so far. It was Sunday and usually that would mean that Robin would have been returned to the Batcave before midnight – Jason himself would not have minded staying up longer, but he had learned very quickly that resistance was futile when it came to bedtime hours – so that he could get up at seven and be ready for a fresh new day of tutoring sessions – which he would not have minded either. Access to proper education was an undervalued privilege. Access to private tutors even more so. Usually, he would have been in bed by now, or at least pretending to be so, while actually reading ahead in his course materials or putting in a few more weight exercises.

However, tonight was not a usual Sunday night. They had had a run-in with Ivy the day before, and though Jason wasn’t entirely sure just what it was that her chlorophyll-obsessed brain had cooked up this time – the Batcomputer was still running analysis on Bruce’ blood sample – it had been clear right away that Bruce, who had taken the brunt of the attack, would not be ready for patrol. He had tried to crawl out of his bed, of course. He had tried to get up and head out for business as usual, but Alfred had quickly put a stop to that.

Jason had been sitting in the Batcave, analyzing samples and studying casefiles, when the bat signal had been lit up on the roof of Bleake Island’s GCPD department and the reports had started pouring in. Bruce had told him to stay at home. Alfred had told him to stay at home. Jason had glanced at the green-and-red suit.

 _Gotham_ was his home and just because Bruce wasn’t up to the task of protecting it tonight, did not mean that Robin would have to bench himself. He had been through the Gauntlet. He had earned that suit. He could still fight. He could still do good.

It had been a productive evening, even if Gordon had raised an eyebrow at being greeted by Robin, and only Robin. The urgent case that had needed their attention was a new string of murders down in Burnley that had the coroners stumped and the cops spooked. Jason had secured all the crime scenes and documented their evidence meticulously, all the while assuring Alfred over the comms that, yes, he was safe, no, he was not coming home any time soon, yes, he was going to be careful, no, he did not need help. It was early February, Gotham was covered in snow and ice, and Barb was down with a nasty flu. She did not need to get involved any more than Bruce did.

It had been going perfectly well until the clock struck one. He was tailing a suspicious truck that had been transporting explosive materials through Miagani Island. Jason had tagged it and followed it all the way to the Amusement Mile. _Joker’s territory_ , Robin thought to himself as he grappled into North Gotham. He would have to be very careful here.

The truck stopped at the northeast docks. Jason watched from up high as crate upon crate of hazardous materials was loaded into the warehouse beneath his feet. There were twenty-eight thugs, almost all of them armed, except for the two men inspecting the merchandize, haggling over prices. Robin was just about to scout the nearby rooftops for good entry points into the building when he felt, more than heard, the presence of a second pair of feet behind him.

He whirled around instinctively, aiming low first, but his sweeping leg hit nothing but air. He rolled out of the way of the strike he just knew was coming for him, ducked, and brought up his fist hard. He was already six hits in when he realized that it wasn’t two arms blocking his strikes, but rather two long, black escrima sticks. From between the crossed metal, Nightwing smiled at him, a wide grin tucked from one ear to the other.

“Good morning, Little Wing. Is that a way to greet your big brother?”

“You’re not my brother,” Jason lobbed back at him as he pushed away and took a step back, his feet still poised for battle.

Clearly, Nightwing had entirely different intentions. He tucked his sticks away with a quick flurry. “Aw, you wound me, Jaybird.”

“What do you want?” It came out just a little angrier than he had meant, but Jason swallowed the sharp little stab of regret the moment he felt it. “Shouldn’t you be in Blüdhaven?”

“What? I can’t stop by and say hello now?”

“I’m working.” Jason frowned. A quick glance at the building below confirmed that the meeting was not yet over, but it was only a matter of time. “What the hell do you want, Nightwing?”

At last, the smile faltered and Nightwing sighed in mild exasperation. “Good God, Robin, relax! Can’t we have one minute of pleasant conversation? B is going to give me enough hell when he gets here and—“

“You brought him here?”

He knew he had misstepped the moment he saw Richard Grayson’s face go from frowning to confused and then straight into what Jason liked to call ‘the focus face’. He had seen it on Bruce often enough: the narrowing of the eyes, the quick erasure of any and all previously displayed emotion, the slight and sudden tensing of every muscle. He had tipped him off. _Crap._

“Hold on a sec,” Whatever warmth had been in his voice was suddenly gone. “Where is B?”

“Not here.”

“I can see that,” Dick rolled his eyes. When that didn’t give him the reaction he wanted, he reached for the communicator in his cowl. “Fine. I’ll ask Alfred what’s going on then—“

“No!”

He didn’t even think about it. Instinct took hold of him as he tackled his predecessor, trying to swat away that treacherous hand. They ended up with their hands interlocked, wrestling for an opening, until a sudden sweep of Dick’s leg sent both of them off balance. Jason watched Dick twist in mid-air before he could so much as blink, and the resulting shift in positions ended with Jason on his belly and Dick straddling his back, pushing both his wrists firmly into the harsh snow atop the snow-covered roof. The feeling was awfully familiar and instantly repulsive, and he bit his bottom lip to break the tension that was threatening to paralyze his entire body.

_This is not a good time for a panic attack, Robin. It’s just Nightwing. Breathe, don’t panic. Focus, don’t panic. Breathe and focus..._

“Robin?”

There was more than just a hint of concern swinging underneath Nightwing’s voice, but most of it was lost through the thick haze of memories that wanted to come bursting into his brain. Jason took a deep breath, counted to five, and exhaled, forcing the tension out of his limbs together with the breath from his lungs.

“B got poisoned by Ivy yesterday. He’s at home. He’ll be fine.”

That was apparently enough to get the weight off his back, and he rolled back, flipping up into his battle stance once more the instant he could. Dick mustered him from head to toe, concern and aggravation obviously duking it out in his brain.

“Does he know you’re here?”

Jason laughed, a hysterical sound that had somehow wormed its way out of his throat against all reason. “No. Do you think I would still be running across the rooftops if he did?”

He wouldn’t. He’d be in the Batmobile now, strapped into the passenger’s seat, with Bruce’ disappointed scowl right next to him, his deep voice rattling off a string of sermons and lectures about how he had deliberately disobeyed orders, screwed up an important case, and had still been too slow and too weak to measure up to Dick. Again.

In the warehouse beneath them, things had suddenly started moving. Crates were being rearranged and exchanged for something that looked an awful lot like suitcases full of money. The two head honchos were shaking hands. Jason cursed under his breath.

“Tear me a new one later. There’s a smuggling deal going on right beneath our feet and the bastards are about to run.”

“I know. I’ve got this.”

“Excuse me?” He jumped quickly, putting himself straight between Nightwing and the edge he had been going for. “This is MY case! I tracked these explosives-carrying fuckers all the way from Miagani to here!”

“And I tracked the buyer all the way from _Blüdhaven_ to here,” Dick retorted as he tried to push past him. “Also, mind your language.”

“ _Fuck_ my language!” He was not going to lose this battle. Not to Dick fucking-perfect-at-everything Grayson of all people. He put himself right in front of the former Robin and balled his hands into fists. It was hardly an intimidating display. His body had only recently started catching up on years of growth and muscle-building hampered by malnutrition and starvation. He was still a good head shorter and a few pounds lighter than Dick, but he was not going to go down without a fight. “I’m going in there. With or without you.”

Instead of displaying the anger and frustration Jason had expected, Dick merely smiled at him in amusement, reflecting the anticipated emotions right back onto him. “Whatever you say, Little Wing.”

***

There were precisely four feasible entrances into the warehouse: the front door, the loading bay, the fire exit, and the windows on the sea-facing side. Dick would gladly have taken point, but that would have been pushing his luck.

He had always known, of course, that Jason – his new little brother – had a bit of a temper. Okay, maybe ‘bit’ was an understatement, but even though it had only been six months, Dick knew enough to expect the indignant rebellion, the agitated punches, and the fiery temper. Nothing that Jason had showed him tonight had truly surprised him, although the shudder that had gone through the poor boy upon landing face-down in the snow had broken his heart.

What had surprised Dick was that he hadn’t seen Alfred’s call for what it had truly been. _‘Master Bruce is single-mindedly focused on the Ivy case tonight’_ , _he said_ , Dick thought to himself as he watched Jason go in position just above the windows. _‘Now would be an opportune moment to take care of cases that might lead you back into Gotham’ he said_ , Dick mused as the smoke pellet exploded in the center of the room, as the startled cries rose from the hushed silence, and Robin slipped in through the window, unseen, unheard, unnoticed.

Alfred, the old fox, had set him up.

He opened the front door with a smile on his face and planted his fist straight in the face of the first thug trying to flee from the scene. With a slight shake of his head, Nightwing drew his escrima sticks and leapt into the fray.

It wasn’t so much that he minded being brought back to Gotham to watch over Robin for a night, Dick realized as he took down his second and third targets with quick hits to the head and a couple thousand volts. Jason was still so very young, fresh out of training, fresh out of the Gauntlet, and though he seemed to be quite capable of holding his own – Nightwing almost winced at the sharp, repeated sounds of cracking bones as Robin broke the limbs of anyone coming within arm’s reach – solo patrol required a level of alertness and focus and experience that he wasn’t sure his little brother had just yet.

And that was _okay_.

He twisted out of the way of some unfortunate mook who had been charging at him with too much brawn and too little brain, and slammed his head hard against the hood of the nearby delivery truck.

God, he wished he could just grab Robin by the shoulders and tell him that it was _okay_ not to be perfect from the start, to make mistakes here and there, to have flaws. He had tried once. It hadn’t ended well. Nightwing used the fresh fury the memory provided as fuel to counter the high hooks two men were trying to fling at him now that the smoke was mostly gone.

On the bright side – he dodged a steel pipe aimed at his head and grinned as Robin zip-kicked the bastard right in the stomach – he had managed to turn Jason’s outright rejection of Dick’s presence into a grudging, backhanded acceptance of the possibility that they could do this together. It was slow progress, minimal even, by Bruce’ standards, but Dick wasn’t Bruce and Nightwing wasn’t Batman. He was perfectly okay with this.

Two of the crooks tried to be smart, attempting to high-tail it out of there in the truck that had delivered the explosives. Dick smiled as he and Robin released their wing-dings and red-tipped batarangs simultaneously, scoring two knock-outs at the same time. With a quick nod, Nightwing turned around to take care of the remaining thugs, while Robin proceeded to slash the tires.

When the dust finally settled, they were surrounded by eighteen unconscious, criminal idiots.

“Dear god...”

 _Seventeen unconscious criminal idiots_ , Nightwing corrected himself as he slowly walked over to the man writhing on the ground and groaning in pain. His arm seemed to be broken in two places. _Seventeen unconscious and one lucky winner._

“Dear mother of god...”

“It’s a little late to pray for divine intervention, don’t you think, buddy?” He planted one of his boots on the man’s good wrist, the other on chest. “See, I don’t recognize you from Blüdhaven, so you must be part of the supply chain, rather than the buyers. Who is your boss?”

The thug grinned at him through a bloody mouth that looked to be freshly short two teeth. “I ain’t telling you shit, Wanna-bat!”

“Wrong answer,” Robin replied as he delivered a well-placed kick to the man’s flank, fracturing one of his ribs. Dick scowled at him, softly enough to fly under the radar of their target, but obvious enough for Robin to notice. Jason merely shrugged his shoulders as he retrieved another one of his batarangs – the crimson tips almost looked like they had been dunked in blood – crouched down to bring the blade just above the thug’s face, and turned it over in his hand slowly. The smile on his face looked like it belonged in a slasher horror movie. “I’d tell him, if I were you, ‘cause I’m getting bored already. You know what I do when I get bored?”

“You already broke my arm, you little bastard!” The thug tried to spit at him, but only succeeded in drooling like an idiot. “Batman wouldn’t let you do anything more than that!”

“Batman ain’t here,” Robin replied, and Dick couldn’t help but wonder how his voice had suddenly dropped an octave as if by magic. “And like you just said, _he_ ain’t Batman either.”

Five seconds passed. Ten. Twenty. When they reached forty, Jason shrugged his shoulders and reached for the broken arm.

“Fine. I’ll start with your pinky finger. You don’t need any skin on your pinky right? And I mean... it _will_ grow back. Eventually.”

The blade hadn’t even so much as grazed the skin. Suddenly, the man’s eyes were wide with panic.

“Walters! His name is Walters!” Robin’s batarang remained exactly where it was, putting just enough pressure on the finger to draw a thin dot of blood. The man swallowed hard. “He used to be independent, but once he earned enough, Penguin came askin’ for his cut. He’s workin’ for him now. I swear that’s all I know!”

Nightwing smiled and brought out one of his escrima sticks. “Thank you, good sir.”

One hit later, he was out for the count. Dick watched as Jason stepped back, surveying the warehouse quickly before stretching his limbs and cracking his knuckles. The smile on his face softened a little, but it was still creepy as all hell.

“There we go! One explosive trade busted and fresh new info. That went well.” When Dick didn’t answer, Jason scoffed. “Oh, come on, Nightwing! It worked, didn’t it?”

“The ends don’t justify the means, Robin.”

He put the stick back into its holster and breathed out deeply, trying to relax as much as possible. Jason usually reacted better to being asked than being ordered. He was certainly a lot more reasonable to deal with when he didn’t feel like he was in for a beating.

“We took ‘em all out. We stopped the trade. We got new intel. That’s all good, but it’s not what being Robin is about. It’s not what being Nightwing or Batman is about, although B sometimes seems to forget that. We’re here to help, Robin, not hurt. Don’t let these bastards drag you down into the darkness with them, okay?”

He had been expecting rage. He had been expecting dismissal. Fight or flight. Instead, what Dick got was a bout of high-pitched laughter.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Jason grinned from ear to ear as he started zip-tying the wrists of the downed criminals. “No wonder they all think you’re a joke! Do you hear yourself when you talk? You sound like somethin’ out of a bible club invitation.”

Dick frowned, but he started helping out with the zip-tying nonetheless.

“I’m not trying to be dramatic or poetic, Robin.”

When he was done with his half, Nightwing made sure to step into Robin’s sightline again. Anybody else he would have hugged, or at the very least grabbed by the shoulders, but he had had enough missteps with Jason to know what that much physical contact would get him.

“I’m saying it, because I mean it. This kind of life we lead... it gets dark enough as it is. Don’t fill your life with any more pain and suffering than gets thrown at you already. Even if it doesn’t bother you now, some day it’s going to come back to haunt you, and I don’t want that. I don’t want you to feel haunted. I don’t want you to regret. I want you to have a happy, stable future.”

“Why?” Jason raised an eyebrow at him. Even despite the cowl, Dick could see that he was honestly confused. “What’s it matter to you? It’s not _your_ future.”

He wanted to sigh. He wanted to bash his own head against the wall, followed by the heads of Willis Todd and every other piece of human filth that had turned this brave, empathic young boy, his Little Wing, into the bitter, cynical, distrusting ball of survivalist denial he was today. Instead, Dick smiled.

“You know why, Little Wing. You are my—“

“I’m not,” Jason cut him short. “How many times do I have to say it, before you get it into your thick skull? I’m not your fucking—” Suddenly, his eyes were wide, his muscles tense. He reached for the grapnel gun instinctively. “Fuck!”

By the time Dick had turned halfway around to face whatever Jason had been looking at, the batclaw had already rushed past his head, curling around Robin’s ankle as he fled and re-acquainting him harshly with the grip of gravity. What Jason didn’t have in strength ( _yet_ ), he had in speed, quickly dodging the hand that reached for him and back-flipping and jumping just out of reach. It was like watching a bizarre ballet, performed by two deadly assassin’s who were armed to the teeth. All Dick could do was stare, while his brain tried to come up with a solution for separating the two without getting kicked in the teeth.

Eventually the choice was made for him. The front door opened to the light of a police siren, but not the sound. The cop who walked in had his gun drawn already and a look on his face that said ‘shoot to kill and happy to do it’. _Dirty cop._ Dick dived forward instantly, tackling Robin to the ground and wincing only slightly at the bullet that skirted across his shoulder, tearing open the suit and his skin, but not cutting too deep into his flesh. The harsh thump and scream that followed told him that Batman had taken care of the shooter – an assumption that was confirmed when Bruce’s voice growled at him.

“Rooftops! Now!”

Nightwing didn’t argue with that. Neither did Robin. They grappled up, started running, and eventually stopped six blocks to the west, perching high above Gotham’s streets on the border between the Amusement Mile and Park Row. Dick scanned both of them for damage quickly before turning to his brother.

“You okay, Little Wing?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” The tone was defensive, but his body language was not. There was a slight twitchiness there that just screamed ‘concern’. “Your shoulder—“

“Nah, that’s nothing!” Dick glanced at the offending body part with a grin. Okay, it was bleeding and it would require medical attention, but it was nothing outrageously serious. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

Apparently, that was all the confirmation Batman needed. Even though his face – or what could be seen of it under the cowl – looked like he had just cheated the reaper himself, his voice was pure, unforgiving steel, as ever.

“What were you thinking, Robin?” Bruce towered over Jason and Dick winced at the defiant stare in his brother’s eyes. That could not end well. “I told you to stay at home. You deliberately disobeyed me.”

“The bat signal was up. Someone had to go check it out,” Jason argued.

“Batgirl—“

“Is sick. So are you. I’m not. Your point?”

“Jason—“

“Field names, Nightwing!”

He wasn’t sure what was more frightening: the fact that both of them had shouted at him with the same tone to their voices and the same scowls on their faces, or the fact that Bruce instantly went back to treating him like air in favor of laying into Robin.

“You deliberately disobeyed me and Penny-One. You went out here on your own, with no backup, no adequate transport, and only a utility belt full of gadgets. It was unprofessional, careless, and far too dangerous, and now Nightwing is injured.”

For a moment, something akin to guilt flickered across Jason’s eyes, but it was gone in a blink. Instead Jason straightened his shoulders as sheer contempt took over and darkened his features.

“Fifteen attempted muggings, three attempted murders, four attempted rapes, one hit and run, five fresh bodies in Burnley, and an explosives smuggling ring. Let Nightwing slap some sanitizer and gauze onto that strife shot and it will be good in a couple days. It was worth it.”

Bruce did not answer. He did not even flinch. For few precious seconds, time seemed to stop, except for the heavy flurry of snow that had picked up sometime during their scuffle in the warehouse and that now coated Jason’s coal-black hair in thick flakes of white. When Batman finally spoke again, his voice was as cold as the air around him.

“The Batmobile is parked behind Solomon Wayne courthouse. Wait there. If you’re gone when I get there, you are never wearing this suit again.”

The look on Jason’s face was one of pure murder. He spared Nightwing only a short glance, before turning and grappling across the street, heading directly for the courthouse. Dick sighed in exasperation.

“Was that really necessary? I get your point and I understand why you are angry. I don’t condone what he did, either, but you are _both_ right, you know? I will be fine. And he _did_ do good work tonight.”

Under the cowl, Bruce’s face remained unmoving as ever. “Go back to Blüdhaven and take care of your shoulder. We’re done here.”

Ever the lone wolf, Bruce was already turning to leave and suddenly Dick felt anger bubble up hot in his stomach. He supposed this was what Jason felt like right now, only about a hundred times worse. In a split second decision, Dick leapt forward and grabbed Bruce by his arm. The fact that he did not try to shake him off told Dick more about the severity of Ivy’s latest poison and the entire situation in general than he had wanted to know. Still, this had to be done. This was a good hill to die on.

“ _Bruce_ , I mean it. Scold Jay if you want. Punish him. But remember: he _did_ do good work tonight. There are people alive in this city right now who wouldn’t be if it hadn’t been for him.”

As Batman slid from his grasp and headed for the Batmobile, all Dick could do was shake his head.

Sometimes, it really wasn’t easy being a big brother.


End file.
